An Amaranth Broach
by nottheonlyfanaround
Summary: In which Draco seeks revenge for his lost childhood and being forced to join the Death Eaters.


House: Ravenclaw

Year: Head

Word Count: 1722

Category: Bonus

Prompt(s): [Theme] Revenge, [Colour] Amaranth, [Sound] Raindrops on the Glass

* * *

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

I roll over in bed, my mind fuzzy and muddled. The bed is too hard and the springs stick through the mattress, poking and prodding at my body. It creaks with my every movement, the noise abhorrently loud. I want to destroy whomever created it.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

It's too warm for me, despite the cool breeze I can feel wafting in through my window. I throw the comforter off, though my body is still too warm. I throw my thin grey sheet off me as well, relishing in the chill that evelopes me. Perhaps, I suppose, my sheet didn't stay on the bed, but I can't be bothered to look and see.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

A soft tapping reaches my ears; I can tell it's coming from my window. But sleep still has a hold on me, and so I roll over again. My baby blue pillow finds its way over my ears, the tapping noise muffled only slightly. It's fine - the noise is bearable now.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

Amaranth eyes flash across my vision, bold and alarming. My own greyish-silver eyes shoot open, looking frantically around the dark room. _He can't be here._ I try telling myself. I'm shaking, I realize, looking down at my pale hands that can't seem to stay still. All I can hear are my sharp breaths and my heart that's pounding in my chest and ringing in my ears.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

I look towards the source of the tapping, the window. It's only rain, pattering softly on the smooth glass window. My breathing is still shallow and shaky as I can't seem to get those eyes, _his_ eyes out of my head. The eyes that I'd not seen since the war had ended. I listen to the rain as I try and calm myself down, to even out my breathing.

 _In. Tap. Out. Tap. In. Tap. Out. Tap._

It's a pattern, one which I follow for several more moments, before slumping back against the headboard. I look up towards my ceiling, the brown walls lit up only by the moonlight. In the dark corners of the room I can almost see those amaranth eyes again.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

The rain has picked up it's pace, no longer calm and peaceful, simply annoying. It hits my slightly cracked window at a feverish pace, the slight drizzle now a downpour. It's jarring when the first bit of lightning flashes outside. I slide hastily out of bed and slam the window shut. I shiver as my palms rest on the glass - it's cold, unsurprisingly.

I swiftly close the curtains, bathing my bedroom in darkness. Moving slowly, I begin walking back to my bed, bumping my hip painfully on a bedside table. I hear the lamp rock slightly, though it quickly goes still. My bed creaks as I slip back into it. Still shivering, I pull the blankets back over me, my warm comforter not protecting me from the chill in my bones.

My thoughts wander as I sit in the dark, staring at the spot next to me, where I know a painting hangs. I can practically see it, despite the room being pitch black. It's a family portrait from when I was younger. My young life: something I've wanted revenge for since the war ended. Revenge is something my inner demons absolutely _crave_. Something that has been, thankfully, unattainable.

My mother had stood to the right of me, her blonde hair pulled up tightly in a bun. Her hand reached down to hold mine, my small one that was significantly smaller than her own. She had a faint smile on her face, one that made her look more sad than anything. No one told her that.

I stood in between her and my father, a proud smile on my face, my eyes shining brightly. I'd worn my best clothes, my mother telling me how handsome I looked, giggling with me as we descended towards the living room. Despite her features in the photograph, you could tell she was warm and loving. My father looked the exact opposite.

He stood to my left, cane in one hand, his other holding firmly onto my shoulder. A smirk rested on his pale features. He looked like he thought he was better than everyone. Sometimes I think he honestly believed that he was _._ That he was better than my mother and I, that he was better than other families, better even than the Minister of Magic.

He'd worn his favorite brooch that day. It was amaranth in color, small silver engravings all over it. My mother and I _despised_ it. I can vividly remember throwing it off my balcony once. It was irrational and downright stupid. He'd just used magic to find it. Red flashes across my vision as I remember the aftermath of that incident. He was furious, but that excuses nothing. I was only a child.

I rub my pale forearm, turning on the lamp to look at the outline of the Dark Mark. It only serves to make me even more upset. _It's all his fault._ The red eyes flash across my vision again.

 _Get revenge,_ the little voice in the back of my head whispers.

I let out an exasperated sigh, slipping out of bed, listening to the creaking of wood. My closet is horribly unorganized, I realize. Easily fixable, I suppose. I mutter a spell and watch as the clothes fall into perfectly stacked piles. It eases my irritation slightly.

Jeans are the first thing I throw on, they're faded towards the knees, and ripped down at the ankles, but I can't seem to care. I throw on a white shirt, anger over the injustices of my childhood growing as the minutes pass. The little voice is growing louder now, it's far more persuasive. By the time I pull on my coat I'm absolutely furious, so much so that I slam the wooden door on my way out. The house shakes in its foundations.

It's cold outside, though the cold doesn't even faze me. My blood burns with fury, vengeance something I feel like I need. I try to calm myself down, as I apparate to the family manor. _I'll just talk with him, I just need closure._ Or that's what I tell myself, over and over again, willing it to be true. Then I step into the quiet house, shelter from the rain outside. I'm quick, moving to the lit up living room. And there he sits, Lucius Malfoy, smirking down at me as if he knew I'd be there. As if he just _knew_ I'd arrive wanting to speak to him.

His smirk is condescending, the arrogance that is radiating off of him in waves is something I'm all too familiar with. One of his eyebrows is arched, eyes cold and uncaring. My childhood flashes before my eyes, and I'm filled with that blood boiling fury again. I take a deep breath, counting back from ten.

 _10_

Betrayal flashes over his features, his blonde hair shining in the lamplight.

 _9_

He turns smug a second later, eyes shining with power

 _8_

His eyes look amaranth now. It's like he's the monster now. _Voldemort,_ my mind taunts.

 _7_

The counting isn't working, it's all too much. Because _he_ is the reason I lost _everything._ My childhood was ruined because of him, my reputation tarnished forever.

 _6_

"What do you want," he starts, his voice cold and cruel. I just _know_ the next thing out of it will be an insult.

 _5_

"You know I don't help traitors."

He acts as if he's won. As if it's all so amusing to him. My blood boils at his nerve, calling _me_ the traitor. As if he doesn't know all the traitorous things he's done to mother and I, as if he doesn't care. I snap.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

All I see is that horrible, amaranth-red colour, the broach on his chest, the eyes in his staff. The color I hate is in my eyes and I feel fury as I swing blindly into the air. I can't see if I hit him or not, what he looks like. If he's hurt, or feeling betrayal, possibly anger. All I know is the satisfaction whenever my fist collides with something solid.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

I pull out of the violent trance, looking towards the open window, rain pouring down onto it. Blood pours from my nose, it must be broken. I'm sure I have a black eye as well. I look down at the floor where my father lays, knocked out, blonde hair sprawled out behind him. I can tell he's worse off than me.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

It distracts me, the rain. Though only momentarily. Lightning flashes again, illuminating the dark corners of the room. It's hauntingly quiet. I move to stand, figuring I should clean myself up. Leave as soon as I possibly can. I don't want to imagine what my mother would say. Perhaps I can get out without her noticing I was ever even here.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

A soft gasp breaks the silence, the only previous noise coming from the windows. My mother stands in the doorway, hands covering her mouth as she looks at my form, sitting on the ground with blood dripping down my nose and staining my shirt. I expect anger, disappointment. My vengeful thoughts have calmed down, they're satiated. For now. I felt almost numb, with all emotion having been drained from me.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

My mother rushes over to me, dropping down to kneel beside me. My face is wet with tears, though I haven't noticed I'm crying till she wraps her arms around me. She mumbles words that are unintelligible, holds me close as if she won't let me go.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

We just sit there as the sun rises, the rain refusing to let up. Me crying, her trying her best to comfort me. Apologizing even though it wasn't her fault. None of it was because of her. We share a look, as the sun glints off the amaranth broach. It's as if we know exactly what to do with it. It holds anger and sadness and terrible memories. So we do what any sane person would do.

 _ **We destroy it.**_


End file.
